


Hereditary Angels

by alittlebriton



Category: Alias (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Future, F/M, Future Fic, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-02
Updated: 2015-08-02
Packaged: 2018-04-12 15:43:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4485247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alittlebriton/pseuds/alittlebriton
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A story of Isabelle and Sark, family and angels.  The choices we make are influenced by the most unlikely people.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hereditary Angels

Isabelle was six the first time she was abducted. They came for her while she and her mom were shopping in the mall, and she figured it was only ‘cause Mom had hold of Jack that he wasn’t taken too.

They put something over her mouth and she slept, dreaming about dragons that chased her and a fiery staircase, and she woke up trying to scream. Except she couldn’t ‘cause she had tape over her mouth. Isabelle could hear a couple talking in the next room, and she shifted on her butt to get a better look at what was going on. Her hair was falling out of her barrettes, and when she tossed her head to get it out of her eyes, she smacked her head against the wall and she saw spots for a good few minutes.

When her eyes cleared, she could see a heavy-set man with a beard gesturing at a black-haired woman, who was periodically hitting him with the palm of her hand. They were both ignoring her, and although Isabelle wanted water desperately, she knew instinctively that she shouldn’t draw their attention.

A door in that other room opened, and another man walked in. He turned his head sharply as if she had cried out and looked right at her, with her eyes wide in the shaft of light through the open doorway. His eyes widened then narrowed, and he shook his head as if disappointed.

He turned and addressed the heavy man.

“Is that who I think it is?” He sounded like that man in those films that Uncle Will likes to watch, the one with tuxedos and cocktails. There was a nod of agreement. “And she is here why?”

“To get that bitch off our heels once and for all”, came the gruff reply in a thick accent. There was a pause.

“Very well”, said the fair-haired man, and he crossed the room to close the door, leaving Isabelle in darkness. There was a whoosh noise and then a thump, and then two more whooshes like air was being sucked through a straw very fast and then a crash. The door flew open, and Isabelle closed her eyes so she wouldn’t have to see the monster there.

When she opened them, the fair man was standing over her. He gently took the tape from one side of the her mouth and started to peel it off.

“You must be Isabelle. And you must want your mother. Let’s go find her, shall we?” He freed her arms and legs and picks her up with ease. She puts her arms around his neck as he starts forward.

“Close you eyes, Isabelle. You don’t want to see what is in the next room.” She obediently shut her eyes, like she did when her daddy told her to in their old kitchen, right before they moved. He carried her out to a car and she blinked in the sunlight. He puts her in the backseat and straps her in.

“I’m just going to call your mother. We’ll have you home in an hour or two.” She watched as he flipped out a phone and dialled a number. He is silent for a few seconds.

“Sydney. Or should it be Agent Vaughn?” She could hear his voice faintly. She liked the sound of it. She watched him hold his phone away from his ear as a tinny voice started shouting.

“Sydney, calm down. I didn’t take her, but I do have her. You must have really pissed off Paulo Venesi to make him abduct your child. I suggest we meet at the docks. You can have Isabelle back, and I won’t be charged for Paulo’s murder. A fair trade.” The man flipped his phone shut and cast one look at the house behind him. “Amateurs”, he snorted, and then got into the front seat.

“Careful, Isabelle, I drive fast. If it scares you, let me know.”

She didn’t say a word the whole journey, and secretly enjoyed the sensation in her stomach as he went over hills. Sometime later, they arrived at the dock in Los Angeles, which she recognises from walks with her dad. She can see her mom and dad with Uncle Dixon all standing in a line. Mom looked liked she’d been crying.

The nice man got out of the car and came round to open her door. She bounded out and ran to her mommy, arms outstretched, asking to be picked up. Her mom complied, hoisting her in the air and smothering her with kisses.

“Oh, Izzy, we were so worried. Did they hurt you? You’ve been gone a whole day - if anyone ever tries to grab you again you scream, ok?” Her mom’s words came out in a rush and she realises that her mother is shaking.

“Take better care of her in the future. I can’t guarantee that I’ll always be in the right place at the right time.” The man’s voice sounded gentle, but her mother shot him a look that frightened Isabelle.

“Stay away from her, Sark. Just be grateful that we don’t plan on arresting you today. Don’t think we don’t know what you wanted with Venesi.” And Isabelle’s mom led her to her car and strapped her in, breathing heavily. Isabelle could hear a car start, and she craned her neck to watch the man drive away.

“He looks like an angel, mom. Is he one?” Her mom looked at her in surprise, with a fear in her eyes.

“Even the devil was an angel at first, Izzy. If you see him again, you scream for help, ok?” Isabelle nodded solemnly, and was rewarded with an ice-cream for her trouble.

 

After three more failed kidnapping attempts, someone finally succeeded when she was twelve. They must have been good, ‘cause they got her brother as well, and he was a biter. Tied up and gagged, locked in a trunk for hours and hours, Isabelle was pretty freaked when they dragged her out and into a massive looking building. They were speaking some weird language that was quite guttural, and she had no idea where they were, except it was colder than California. She caught a glimpse of her brother as he was led away, squirming, into a separate part of the gray building.

She was thrown into a cold sparse cell, and then she felt the prick of a needle and then there was nothing. This time, she was kept for a while. She could tell. They removed her gag for her to eat and drink, and other than that, ignored her. When she tried to ask for her brother, she was met with stony silence, and at one point, a smack across the cheekbone that made her eye feel like it was about to pop out.

One day, she didn’t know which, she heard a British accent, and her heart began to beat more rapidly. A man entered the room where her cage was, and knelt down to peer quizzically at her. He looked familiar, and she thought it’s that that man, Sark, or whatever, that saved her last time. She tried to make her eyes communicate ’Save me’, which must have worked a little because he started to laugh.

“Alright, don’t pull a muscle”, he grinned, and straightened up. He left her room, and then she could hear crashes and breaking from the next room. He ran back in, holding keys in his hand, and she shrank back. His shirt was covered in what looked like blood.

As he unlocked the door, he whispered, “We don’t have time for you to be squeamish right now, Isabelle. We need to get you out of here because there will be more guards.” He removed her gag, and she quickly said, “My brother’s here.” His eyes became alarmed.

“Where?”

“I don’t know. They took him to the left building as we came in.”

“Ok. Can you get on my back and look behind me as we find your brother? Scream if anyone starts chasing us.” They ran through the gray corridors, Sark peering around every corner with Isabelle looking behind them for any sign of the ugly brute who hurt her.

She didn’t even realise he had a gun until there was a loud bang and she saw a man’s head explode out of the corner of her eye. She couldn’t help it; she yelped.

“Shhh. It’s ok, Isabelle. Keep looking behind us.” Sark increased the pace, and Isabelle tried to breathe normally again. Finally, they came to a lock door, and Sark didn’t hesitate before kicking it in and shooting another guard, this time in the chest. He dropped Isabelle on the floor, and ran to untie Jack, who looked as scared as she felt.

“It’s ok, Jack. We’re gonna get out of here”, she says, trying to reassure him.

Sark turned around to look at her, raised the gun and fired over her shoulder. She didn’t even have time to flinch, she simply stood there, frozen, until she realises that another man has gone down screaming behind her. Sark cursed under his breath.

“Can you run while I take Jack?” She nodded mutely. He grabbed Jack and swung him onto his shoulders, then reaches for her hand. Together, they all ran out of the building and into his Jeep. There isn’t anytime for seatbelts before people start firing at them wildly, and Sark floors the gas and they smash through the gates of the compound.

“Christ. That wasn’t exactly good for business.” He glanced over at her, hair dirty, blood on her dress from his shirt, eyes shining at the speed of the vehicle.

“You simply attract trouble, don’t you? I’m getting too old for this rescuing lark, Isabelle.” She smiled crookedly at him, and then allowed herself to fall into the safe sleep she so desperately needed.

When she woke up, they were speeding down the highway in Northern California, and he was on the phone, swerving dangerously between cars.

“Need I remind you, Sydney, that I just lost a lot of money and probably now have your only remaining aunt after my head. Stop warning me away from your children just because I happen to have business ties to their kidnappers. I’d also like to point out that each time, I bring them home and ask nothing of you. Except this time, I’d like to request that your agency send someone after Katya. Not just for your childrens’ sake, but for my own, you understand.” His voice was teasing but his jaw was tight. He was getting the slightest of lines around his eyes, and she wondered how old he was.

“Fine. I know the park. We’ll see you there in about three hours.” He turned to her after hanging up the phone.

“How are you feeling?”

“Ok, thank you. Mr. Sark, how do you know my mom?” He quirked his eyebrow in amusement.

“There isn’t any ‘mister’ in front of my name, sweetheart. And your mother and I are old friends and old enemies. One day, when you are older, maybe she’ll tell you the story.” And then he pursed his lips and shook his head and wouldn’t say any more, no matter how much she begged.

When she got home, that was all she asked her mother about for three weeks until she gave in. She had to write it all down just to make sense of it, and even then some of it was sketchy. She found a picture of Sark in one of her mom’s boxes in her closet, and kept it hidden in her secret hiding place under the floorboard for years until she forgot about it.  
  
  
  


When she was seventeen, she met him again, purely by accident, while fending off yet another attack. She was trying to catch her breath and waiting for the guy on the left to lunge for her again when a shadow stepped into the light at the end of the alley and fired two shots. Both men went down to the ground without a sound.

“You.”

“You”, he shot back, and she could practically hear his eyebrow raise.

“Do you always have to erupt into violence around me?” She put her hand on her hip, trying to look nonchalant. He’s cuter than she remembered. And shorter.

“Do you always need rescuing? Really, Isabelle, this damsel in distress act has got to stop.” He walked towards her slowly, clicking the safety back on his gun and slipping it into the small of his back.

“Funny. Did I look in particular distress to you? I could’ve handled it.” She flipped her hair as if this sort of thing happened all the time. Which it did, but usually her mom or dad was around to deal with it.

“They weren’t coming to take you, they were coming to kill you. Your mother’s past enemies hold certain grudges. These are Peyton’s hires.”

“How do you know all this?”

He stopped in front of her.

“Because I refused the commission.” He held her gaze while his words sank in.

“Oh”, she said in a small voice. “So…how much was I worth?”

“For the trouble you seem to cause, far too little”. He smiled, gently, and turned to go. She watched him in confusion.

“Hey!” He wheeled back around.

“Aren’t you gonna ask how I’ve been? Or at least offer me a lift home?” She crinkled her forehead and tried to look beseeching. He stared at her for a moment, and then started laughing, the sound echoing off the walls.

“Quite the actress, aren’t we? Come on, Mata Hari. We’ll drop you off at your little spy home and your spy family can help you to hone your performance.”

They walked out of the alley together and slip into Sark’s waiting car. Another sleek, fast animal, she noted, and grinned to herself. As usual, he broke the speed limit on the drive home, and she didn’t ask him how he knew the way, concentrating instead on the wind in her hair and the man by her side. He pulled up outside her door and turns to her.

“This is where you get out and I never have to see you again because you stop attracting trouble, correct?”

She flashed him her best brilliant grin.

“My mother told me never to make promises that I couldn’t keep.” His face broke into a smile and he laughed, low and sweet, and she suppressed a shiver.

“Your mother would know all about that, given her family history.” His face grew serious again and he pierced her with his eyes, black as night in the shadows of the street. His hands reached up and he brushed the hair off her forehead with his slender fingers, a cool touch that did nothing to lower her temperature.

“You are a very dangerous woman to know, Isabelle Vaughn. You take too much after your grandmother.” She pulled herself together as best she could, and tried not to dissolve into childish giggles or teenage tremors.

“As it’s you, I’m takin’ that as a compliment.” She ducked her head to avoid his gaze and opened the door. She could feel the heat of his gaze all the way to the front door.  
  
  
  


Now, at twenty-two, she meets him with a gun drawn, her aim true and the safety off. He is unarmed, as far as she can see, and he leans against the doorway of the office as if it is only natural that they should meet like this.

“Hello, Isabelle. Whatever could you be doing here?”

“You know damn well. Give me the file.”

“And where would be the fun in that?” He spreads his hands wide in a gesture of openness. “As you can see, I have no file.”

“Like hell”, she retorts rudely.

“And what if I do have it?” He pushes off the wall with his shoulder and walk towards her slowly, and Isabelle gets the unmistakeable feeling of being hunted.

“What would you do? Would you shoot me? Put me in cuffs and hand me over?”

“I don’t want to fight you, Sark. Honest to god, I don’t. But I have to have that file.”

“This must be one of your first assignments, yes? How do your parents feel about you entering the family business?”

“My mother’s as pleased as punch. Now give me the damn file.”

“Temper, Isabelle. You know that I could kill you before you could even get a shot off.”

“Possibly. But where would be the fun in that?”

He stops and laughs, his smile wide and honest, and when he looks back at her his eyes are glinting with amusement at her repeated words. He licks his lips.

“What if I were to offer you a job? A chance to progress faster, rather than the normal paper pushing they put you through for most of your time. A chance to see more and do more, a chance to learn real skills. And the money would be better, of course.”

“You want me to work for you? Are you twisted?” Her mouth drops open, and he smiles again.

“Some have said so. And you would be working with me.” He’s so close now, and she unconsciously lowers her gun to his chest.

“Work with me, Isabelle. You’ve always wanted to know about what I do. And now I’m offering you that chance.” He reaches behind him and pulls out a disk and holds it out. She doesn’t take her eyes off him, but reaches out with her free hand and takes it.

“I’ve given you the file. And I’ll give you a week.” And then he moves quickly to push her hand holding the gun behind her back, and she cries out in surprise, the sound echoing off the walls of the corridor.

In his arms, she's so close she can smell him, adrenaline sweat and cologne mixed together and it overwhelms her.

“You’ve grown into a beautiful woman, Isabelle.” And he bends his head to kiss her, and he tastes sweet and musky like wine, and she drinks him in, returning the kiss. She feels him place something in her pocket and he breaks his hold and backs away.

“Either way, I’ll be seeing you.” And he turns and walks out of the building.

Later, her case work filed and her report written up, congratulations from her co-workers accepted, she sits in her new apartment downtown and watched the traffic. Red lights going, white lights coming into the city. She wonders which city he’s in. She sips from her beer, and looks down at her hands, turning his card with a single number on it over and over again.

What does she feel for him? Fear and a healthy dose of gratitude and not a little desire. Is it enough? She chews her lip, and fails to get any sleep that night.

She walks through her life like a corpse the next few days, viewing her workers go about their day-to-day business, trying to ascertain what they are working for. She visits her parents, and her mother burns another pie, but she always tries. Her dad is sweet and kind and asks her if she is settling in ok. Her mother tells her about Jack’s latest grades, and she marvels that he is sophomore at Yale and apparently kicking ass at chemistry. She makes them laugh at her latest date that went horribly wrong when she corrected the waiter on his French pronunciations and the guy decided she was too smart for him. She escapes to look around her dad’s study, running her hands over photos of Uncle Dixon and Marshall, dips into his forbidden files to examine the connection between her grandmother and Sark yet again.

She leaves feeling empty. She drives through the city, watching people spill out onto the sidewalks in groups of friends and lovers, and she marvels at the ease with which they live their lives. She has friends, of course she does, but none over here. She left them all in Washington, and while she knows that Uncle Eric won’t mind her coming back to stay - Christ, she lived with him and his wife for a year during college - she also knows she is adrift here in Los Angeles.

She finds herself at an all night diner, drinking too strong coffee and fingering the now dog-eared card. She gets out her pen and starts to write, three letters. One to Jack, telling him she will see him soon no matter what. One to her parents, telling them not to worry but she needs to take a different path right now, and that she will visit. And one to Director Gibson, explaining that she is leaving for personal reasons and that she is sorry. She licks the envelopes and places the stamps firmly on the paper, then throws down a twenty and moves out into the night.

The air is warm and shifts her hair about her face as she drops the letters in the box. Then she goes to the nearest pay phone, takes a deep breath and dials the number she knows by heart.

“Ok”, she says as the phone is picked up. There is silence on the other end, although she can hear the sounds of traffic.

“Hello? Hello? Sark?”

The door of the pay phone opens and a hand reaches over to hang up the phone.

“Do you have every thing you need?” Sark asks.

She looks at him, part of her past, her mother’s past, her guardian angel and worst nightmare. He quirks his mouth in his half-grin, lanky with just the faintest hint of wrinkles around his eyes, and she can see her future in his eyes. It involves death, and destruction, and betrayal. But it involves him.

“I do now”, is all she says.


End file.
